Euthanasia
by foolondahill17
Summary: "Maybe Stark has a point. What right do we have to play god and not expect to be held accountable for it?" Civil War in one-hundred words or less. A series of drabbles.


I'm a little worried _Civil War_ will be a lot of drama for the sake of drama, with little convincing basis behind it. That said, I wrote this anyway, because angst is my drug.

This was prompted by **findthesa** in the be_compromised promtathon: We know that (supposedly) Clint and Nat are on different sides for Civil War - not because they're not friends and don't want to fight with each other, but because of their beliefs. How do they respond to that conflict? Because Strike Team Delta is not used to NOT being in sync.

This came out only vaguely following the prompt; it features the whole team, but does have a plethora of Clint/Natasha moments. Because of the latest buzz going around about _Civil War_ 's trailer, it seems like Natasha will actually be on Steve's "team" rather than Stark's – an interesting twist in regards to fan conjecture, which seems to favor Clint siding with Steve and Natasha with Stark. I decided to play with that a little.

* * *

Euthanasia

* * *

"I'm retired." Clint stared at Cooper, playing catch with himself, baseball flying high into the air, suspended for a moment in utter stillness at the height of its arc, and tumbling back down to smack soundly in his glove, like a steady rhythm of a drum, at Lila, scribbling on the freshly paved driveway with sidewalk chalk, at Laura, holding Nate on her lap, sitting cross-legged on the grass, pulling clover and dandelions out of the lawn "No one knows where we live."

"Stark knows where you live."

* * *

"They didn't show Riefenstahl's _Triumph of the Will_ to civilians." Steve's face was taught, emotion impossible to discern. "I got to see it because I was in the Office of War Information. Today it's considered one of the most infamous pieces of Nazi propaganda to come out of the war. And it looked a helluva lot like what I just watched now."

* * *

Clint's fingers were spread wide on the chipped paint of the porch railing. "Maybe Stark has a point. What right do we have to play god and not expect to be held accountable for it?"

"You can't be serious, Clint." But Natasha knew Clint, knew him like he was part of herself, every breath and movement in sync with each other. She could tell he was perfectly serious, gray eyes darkened, brow furrowed, mouth set in a grim line.

"What happens to my children if I fight this?"

"What happens to them if you don't?"

* * *

"As a mark of support for the Accords," said Stark, grinning face overly large on the television for the hundredth replay of the day. "Mine will be the first signature on the Superhuman Registration Act."

"So it's basically a war of propaganda?" said Steve, eyes slightly narrowed, tracing Stark's fingers as they signed his name with a flourish like he was endorsing a large check. Steve flexed his fingers, almost smiled. "Well then, that's easy. I'm Captain America. I know all about selling a war."

Natasha shook her head and flicked the television off. "Not this kind of war, Steve."

* * *

"Stark's insane – anyone who sides with him is crazy in my eyes, too."

"Sometimes you do crazy things for your friends, Rogers."

"Even if your friend is wrong, Rhodes?"

"Yeah." Rhodey turned his back, fired up the repulsors on his suit with a roar of grinding metal and flashing lights like flickering flame. "Even then, Steve. Sometimes especially then." He didn't bother to say he was sorry.

* * *

"I think I found us another possible ally."

"Who is he?"

"His name's Scott Lang –"

"You mean the guy you tangled with in the tower. With that weird ant suit? Really, Sam, a petty criminal?"

Wilson shrugged, "Hey man, can't afford to be picky. We'll take whoever we can get."

* * *

Steve rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, curiously reluctant to meet their faces. It was frustrating, how much leadership demanded of him, expecting him to intrinsically understand how to deal with any kind of situation, even something like this, that he had no possible way to know how to deal with. "So, you two are…dating?"

"Well, I do not think _dating_ is quite the right word to use, Captain Rogers," said Vision, metallic red hand entwined with Wanda's, small and pale, hanging between the two of them like a pendulum.

"It is not?" said Wanda, face falling.

* * *

"Stark."

"Ah, Rogers," said Tony, helmet under one arm like a basketball at a casual pickup game at the gym. "About time you showed up."

"I've been here waiting for _you_ , Stark. Real men face their problems head-on."

"Real men?" said Stark. "You sure that serum didn't take that from you, too? You're all fake, Rogers, and you know it."

"Says the man wearing a metal suit."

* * *

"Ladies and gentlemen we just witnessed the First Battle of Bull Run," said Sam, reaching out a hand to Steve, flat on his back on the cement floor. The air smelled of smoke. Sunlight filtered through the splintered hole in the ceiling made by Stark's explosive retreat.

Steve groaned and rolled back to his feet. "Well," said Steve, "my mother did give me the middle name Grant after the general."

* * *

"T'Challa – erm – your highness-ness," said Tony, pouring himself a large scotch. "And what do I owe this…pleasure?"

"You are who they call Stark, Man of Iron, king of this _ka aarsan_ tower?" T'Challa was dressed in black, face half-way shrouded in shadow so all Tony could see was the silky curve of his jawline, the deep glint of his eyes within the darkness.

"Yup. That sounds about right. So…what brings you out of Wakanda these days? Hopefully to cast your allegiance in with me?"

T'Challa's voice was slow, almost somber. "Black Panther is on no one's side, Man of Iron."

* * *

"So," said Steve, and stretched his arms, elbows out, hands cupped behind his head. "Officially a fugitive from the United States' government."

Natasha folded the newspaper over, her and Steve's mugshots front page news. She tossed it to the end of the hotel bed, where it spun and slipped onto the floor. She crossed one ankle over the other and lay her head back on the too plush pillow, hands folded over her stomach, feeling her heartbeat through her flesh. "Not the first time."

* * *

"With all due respect, _Captain_ ," It was astonishing how much contempt Parker managed to fit into the one word. "But I'm not just some damned kid."

* * *

"I told him once there wasn't any SHIELD for me if it was a SHIELD without him," said Natasha, old necklace wet with sweat in her palm.

"I go where you go?" said Steve, looking at the opposite wall, voice heavy coming up his throat. ' _Til the end of the line_. Well, he'd seen the end of the line and he didn't like the view.

Natasha nearly smiled, exhaled out of her nose in what was almost a bitter laugh. She slapped the necklace on the table. "Guess even the best of us eat our words sometimes."

* * *

"Do not forget," Wanda whispered. "I saw inside your mind, Stark. I saw your greatest fears as you did. I saw the broken shield. I saw their dead eyes. I saw their blood on your hands. If you go down this road I promise you your dreams will become your truth."

"Your hocus-pocus doesn't scare me, Maximoff."

"No," Wanda stepped away, faded into red mist. "You are too busy being afraid of yourself."

* * *

"Where's your say in this, dammit?" Steve's fist came down on the desk, rattled the cup of pens so they almost fell off the edge and scattered across the floor.

"Me? I got no say in this, Rogers." Fury looked cool and undisturbed, unpatched eye focused caustically on Steve's face. "According to the US government I'm still dead. Now, what could a dead man possibly have to say about any of this?"

* * *

The tip of Clint's arrow was trained on Natasha's nose. Her breast heaved with gasping breaths, hair stuck to her sweaty forehead. She was back in Sao Paulo, twenty-two-years-old, blood of the Red Room wet on her palms.

"We've seen this before, Clint. You don't shoot."

His eyes were steely and hard above his arrow, like he was looking at a stranger. The muscles in his arms seemed to convulse, then relaxed. He turned his back.

Natasha hit him on the back of his head with the hilt of her gun. He crumpled and she stepped over the motionless body.

* * *

"Kiss me."

* * *

"Dr. Foster, we'd like to ask you a few questions about an acquaintance of yours."

"Wait a minute – I'm I under arrest?"

"Just bringing you in for questioning, Doctor. Please do not be alarmed."

"Whoa! Not so fast, boys. Jane, get behind me. I got a Taser and I aint' afraid to use it."

* * *

"So you're the one responsible for all this damned sticky web in my hair?" said Sam, pulling at his coarse curls with his fingers. "Damn stuff doesn't come out!"

Steve cut across Sam, facing Parker, towering over the wiry kid by almost two feet. "What made you change your mind?"

Parker shrugged, "What makes you think I've changed my mind?"

Steve crossed his arms over his chest, fought the desire to smile. "I'll rephrase the question. Does this mean you're here to stay?"

* * *

"Well, well, well, what have we here?"

"You know who I am, Stark."

"Yes," Tony's lips spread into a wide, stiff smile, "But the real question, Sergeant Barnes, is: do you?"

* * *

"I've gotten in before. I'd happily do it again," said Lang.

Steve shook his head. "Stark will be looking for you. We need someone he doesn't know, who can get in without notice, weave their own web of deceit."

Natasha caught Steve's eye, cocked an eyebrow. Wilson cracked a grin, turned to look at Peter who was silently observing from the corner.

Peter seemed to realize all faces were now trained on him. "Whoa, man, let's not jump to any conclusions now." He put up his hands, palms outward, face a perfect mask of innocence. "Remember, I'm just a kid."

* * *

"Hey there, big guy."

"Natasha?"

"You know, for a giant green monster you're pretty good at inconspicuous."

"What do you want?"

"You know, Bruce."

"The answer is no, Natasha. Not this time."

"Bruce, please, we need you. You're in as much danger, more maybe, than anyone else –"

Banner shook his head, no hint of animosity in his voice. "You lost any influence over me when you decided to use me as a weapon, Natasha. That's something I never would have done to you. I'm sorry. I can't."

"I'm sorry, too. I wish it could've worked out differently for us."

* * *

"Listen, Barton. I'm doing this to ensure your kids' safety –"

There was a sharp crack as Clint's fists dug into Stark's unarmored shoulders, pinning him against the wall.

Pepper shrieked breathily, but she didn't sound particularly disapproving.

"I'd rather put an arrow through your _eye_ ," Clint hissed, face inches from Stark's, close enough to feel the man's hot, rapid breath, "then follow one more of your damned orders."

Clint released him. Stark wilted against the wall.

"And don't you ever act like you know what's best for my family again."

* * *

"I'm sorry, Clint." She said it anyway, even though she could see her voice slipping off his shoulders like beads of water. Her feet crackled on shards of glass and splinters of wood. "Where are the kids?"

"Her parents." He picked up a shattered picture frame from the floor and put it back on the half-crumbled fireplace mantel. "First time they've met."

The picture, without the glass to protect it, fluttered out of the frame and landed face down back at Clint's feet.

Natasha shut her eyes and tasted bile on the back of her tongue. _I'm sorry._

* * *

"The world is watching this, staring at your every move, cheering for one side or the other like some perverted football game. And dammit, Tony, it's like you're enjoy all the attention."

Tony's fingers were rough on her arm. She'd have bruises in the morning. She wondered if the next time Tony walked out their door he wouldn't come back. She couldn't see any way out of this that wasn't bloodshed. She wondered if in some way she hoped it would be Tony.

* * *

"You know, I'm not the bad guy here, Rogers. The rest of the world sees me as the hero."

"Hero!" Steve scoffed. "You don't know the meaning of the word."

"I think you're just upset that you've lost your crown as America's golden boy."

* * *

"And you – I made you!"

"Next time, Mr. Stark, I suggest you do not gift your creations with free will."

* * *

He slept with her because he missed the warm pressure of his wife's body next to his. When he made love to her Natasha could tell he was still making love to Laura.

* * *

"You're late."

"I come with a warning, Stark."

"Ah, come _on_. Not you too."

"We are much too numerous to be counted by this petty earth registry. This will ultimately bring you no protection."

"You don't understand –"

"No," said Thor, shaking his head. "It is you who do not understand. Brother against brother. I know. No one ever wins in the end, Stark."

* * *

"They're going to win, Steve."

"I never said they weren't."

* * *

"Can I die?" Steve had asked Natasha two years ago, laying bruised and bandaged on the hospital bed.

Bucky kneeled, pried the shield away from cold, stiff fingers and stood again. For a moment he tottered as though he lifted some great weight, but then tossed his hair out of his burning eyes and faced forward, not looking at anyone at all.

"Captain America is not dead."

* * *

"Tony? Tony, look at me."

"Tony? Tony, listen."

"Listen, Tony, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Tony. I'm so sorry."

Tony took a sip of his scotch, face turned to the wall, oblivious to the warmth of Pepper's hand on his arm.

"Thor was right. No one wins."

* * *

End credit scene:

Dr. Strange threaded his fingers together, laying them on his knee, one leg over the other. "I have even learned to speak with the dead."

Wanda sat in front of him rigidly, staring unblinkingly at his cool, almost detached eyes, his pale, gaunt face.

"Teach me," she said.

* * *

Fin


End file.
